United We Stand, Divided We Fall
by Carapatzin
Summary: To hedge his bets against the coming Blight, Duncan rescues not one but four recruits on his way to Ostagar. These are the adventures, trials, and hardships of a grieving Dalish elf, a noblewoman with a penchant for bad jokes, a self-conscious healer, and an enchanter who's probably in love with fireballs. The fate of Ferelden, unfortunately or not, rests on their shoulders.
1. Burning Bright

_So here we are, at the start of a fic that is intended to be multi-chapter and will probably be quite long. This is my retelling of Dragon Age: Origins, the way my headcanon runs, with four Wardens surviving the Joining. (I'm sure many of you have stories like this.) These characters are near and dear to me, so if you enjoy reading this half as much as I enjoy writing it, I'll consider that a success._

_Some bits won't go exaaaaaaactly like the game did; that's precisely because it was a game and not just a book or movie. Parts had to have playability._

_I've tagged only four characters as they are the main relationships I'll be exploring, but rest assured they won't be the only characters involved. (Seeing as they're not even in the first chapter...hmm.)_

_[Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.]_

_Cheers!_

* * *

><p><strong>Burning Bright<strong>

Ellairia Surana groaned as someone gently nudged her awake. Caught in blissful sleep as she was, she resisted the urge to open her eyes, and instead stubbornly flipped onto her stomach and buried her face in her pillow, sealing out the world.

"Come on, Ellie, wake up," the voice said. "Are you all right?"

She swiveled her head to the side, opened one eye, and saw her friend Jowan standing there, black hair disheveled as usual. He never brushed it, no matter how many times she offered to do it for him.

"Demon," she grumbled. She stuck her hand out, palm forward. "Die."

"It's me, Jowan!" he said, backing up a step. "Easy! I know you're just waking up from your Harrowing, but…try to relax."

That she was. Bits and pieces came back to her, like memories of a dream she'd had…maybe because she _had _been in the realm of demons and dreams, the Fade, during the middle of the night. The Templars had roused her from her sleep to finally take her Harrowing, and they'd used a pool of lyrium to send her into the Fade; she barely remembered solving the sloth demon's riddles, fighting the rage demon, and resisting the pride demon Mouse's trickery. It all seemed like years ago. But she might as well milk the trauma with Jowan.

"Help me up?" she said, rolling onto her back and holding up her hand.

Jowan grasped her hand and helped her sit up. "I'm glad you're all right. That Templar, Cullen, carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night. I've heard about apprentices who never even come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

"Oh, _Jowan," _she said, raking her blonde hair out of her face. "It was…_harrowing."_

"Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked; he'd never been one to catch dumb humor. "I know I'm not supposed to know about it, but we're friends, right?" His voice reached a higher pitch than she was sure even _hers _went. "Just a little hint and I'll stop asking, I promise!"

"You know I can't," she chided.

He huffed. "Oh, fine. And now you get to move to those nice mage quarters upstairs. I'm stuck here, and I _still _don't know when they'll call my for _my _Harrowing."

True, that _was _a benefit to passing the Harrowing… She'd have to gather her things from the chest in the apprentice dormitory and carry them upstairs to her new room, whichever one First Enchanter Irving decided she could have. The thought excited her. Her own room, her own tub to bathe in…_wow._

"Jowan, it'll be fine," she reassured him. "They'll call you."

"I've been here longer than you have!" he protested. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me. You do the Harrowing, you do the Rite of Tranquility…or you die. That's what happens. And I don't want either of the other options."

"Maker's breath, Jowan." Ellie blew upwards, stirring a fluffy tendril of hair. "They won't kill you."

"They might not. But the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad…maybe worse." He looked worried. Ellie knew all about the Rite; the Tranquil were all over the Circle tower, after all. She didn't mind them much; eerily collected as they were, they didn't pose any threat to her. Owain, who ran the stockroom, was one of them.

"Like Owain." Jowan kept going, echoing her thoughts. "He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just…nothing in him. It's like he's dead, but still walking. His voice, his eyes…lifeless…"

"Here I thought you'd come by to congratulate me, like a normal friend," Ellie teased.

"I suppose I shouldn't waste your time with this," Jowan admitted. "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving some time today. He said it's not urgent, just make sure you don't forget. And, well…we can speak later." Worry lines all over his forehead, he turned and walked away, leaving the dormitory and heading Maker knows where.

Jowan was a strange friend, she knew, but she'd always appreciated his presence in her life. They were close to the same age – seventeen, give or take a few months – both brought to the Circle as young children, both going through training stages at roughly the same times. He was a decent mage. Irving praised Ellie highly, but she didn't let that get to her head; he probably praised all the young ones that way.

She didn't bother grabbing her things just yet; Irving would tell her where to take them shortly. Not very hungry after last night, she decided to head upstairs instead.

Her route took her out into the hallway, where she listened to her footfalls echoing through the stone corridors as she walked briskly through them. The Templars had left her in her apprentice robes for the night, thank goodness – they hadn't tried to change her out of them. Creepy. Happy to be done with the Harrowing forever, she picked up her pace and did a little skip into the training rooms, pausing only to look up at the towering shelves of books with a sense of awe as she always did.

"Come now, are you a frail old lady?" she heard a smooth Antivan voice say past one of the towering shelves. "Would you rather _knit _than hold up that ward? Because I could use a pair of fuzzy socks. Blue ones. You're being too timid. Have a little faith in yourself."

"But…but…your fireballs are…"

Ellie peeked around the corner and watched. The enchanter threw his hands in the air with a burst of Antivan words and tried again. "That's the _point_ of wards. I can never test your strength if I don't throw a fireball or two at you – _caramba, _don't look so worried! I'm not making you take them full force."

The apprentice's knees knocked together – he was a young lad, several years her junior, and his face was pale as death. "Th-those aren't full force?!"

The enchanter sighed.

Ellie leaned against the dark wooden shelf, sighing herself. Out of all the things in the tower, this enchanter was her favorite thing to study. His name was Corvis Nalída, and she knew he'd been born to Antivan parents but in Ferelden – that was why he was here. He had russet skin, short hair black as pitch, and amber eyes that always blazed as hot as his favorite spell: the fireball. As far as she knew he'd only been promoted to enchanter a couple years back, which meant he'd been too young and she too old for him to take her on as apprentice.

Damned shame, really.

"Make her do the wards," the apprentice begged, pointing at Ellie and giving her away. "She just passed her Harrowing, after all."

Corvis glanced at Ellairia, who stood up straight and cleared her throat. "That she did," Corvis said, giving her a charming smile. "I heard about the test, Ellairia. Congratulations. You did well."

"Thank you," she said, bowing briefly.

Corvis glanced over at the shivering apprentice. "Run along, _niño_," he said. "We won't get anywhere with you soiling your drawers. Go to the library and relax or something. And if I find you in the lavatory vomiting buckets again, I'm going to make you read one of those thousand page tomes about wards until you get it down. Calm your nerves. Enemies wouldn't be nearly as gentle as I was."

"Thank you, master," the young apprentice said, then darted away, back to the dormitories.

Chuckling, Corvis turned back to Ellairia. "So," he said, "was it anything like you expected it to be? The Harrowing, I mean."

"It wasn't so terrible," she replied. "Do you…remember yours?"

"Of course!" he said. "I had my Harrowing nine years ago…I was sixteen, I think. I had too much fun with it, as I recall. Irving said he never worried about me succumbing to a demon because I'd rather burn them instead. Said I was grinning the whole time my mind was in the Fade. Now, then… Were you heading somewhere? Or shall I throw a fireball at you too?"

"I was going to see the First Enchanter, actually," she said.

"Oh? Let me walk with you, then. I'm supposed to report the apprentices' progress to him as often as I can." He hummed a little to himself as he walked at her side. "What shall I report to him, I wonder? _Apprentice violently wets self upon any mention of fire. Apprentice shivers and faints when asked to perform winter's grasp. Apprentice's vulnerability hexes actually make me _less _vulnerable."_

"Apprentice's strength hexes are showing great potential," Ellie tried.

He barked a laugh. "I like the way you think! That should soften the blow, so to speak." As rapidly as his smile came, a frown followed. "I'm concerned for the apprentice, truth be told. If he cannot master his own fears, the Templars will consider him too weak to be a mage and force the Rite of Tranquility on him. I know he has years, yes, but he's not showing enough strength." He looked down at her. "I suspect you would have been easy to mentor."

The compliment was not lost on her; she chose, however, not to show it, for fear of acting too inappropriately. "Wynne might have disagreed with you," she said. Ellairia had shown a talent for spirit healing at a fairly young age, so Wynne, a senior enchanter who specialized in healing, had taken her on as her mentor. Ellie and Wynne had gotten into the occasional spat, but Ellie loved her mentor dearly. Wynne had left a little while back with a few other senior enchanters – something about the king needing mages – and so she hadn't been there for Ellie's Harrowing. Ellie knew she'd be upset at missing it.

"Is that so?" Corvis's longer legs let him climb the stairs faster than she could, and when he reached the heavy door at the top, he held it open for her. "That's not what she told me."

"What did she tell you?" Ellie asked as they continued down the second floor's hallway.

"That you're an easy study, a quick learner, and a delight to teach. Really, have a little faith in yourself."

She'd try. His compliments certainly helped matters.

Elation at her success with the Harrowing made Irving's quick talk with her pass by like she'd been somewhere outside her body during it, and seen it through a thick fog no less. Irving had introduced he to a tall, dark human with a thick, cleanly-clipped black beard, skin as dark as Corvis's, and kind brown eyes – a Grey Warden, he'd said. Ellie knew next to nothing about the world outside the tower, and so she hadn't the faintest idea of what a Grey Warden was. Still, the man – Duncan, he called himself – had been awfully polite to her, even going as far as to ask her about her healing talents and tell her Wynne had spoken highly of her at their camp down in Ostagar. He'd said something about dark-spawn or whatnot, but Ellairia hadn't wanted to ruin her happy mood, so she'd smiled and nodded and regretfully forgotten about it.

She'd left when Corvis gave Irving his report on the young apprentice, to give him privacy, and nearly run face-first into Jowan.

"Yeesh! I almost hit you!" she said. "What're you doing here?"

"Are you done talking with Irving?" he asked, his eyes full of unspoken tension.

"Sure, I am, what – "

"I need to talk to you." He shifted anxiously back and forth on his feet. "Do you remember what we discussed earlier this morning? I, um… We should go somewhere else. I don't feel safe talking here."

Her brows furrowed. "What's the matter?"

"I've been troubled. I'll explain. Come with me, please."

* * *

><p>So <em>this <em>was the reason for Jowan's tension, for the random nights she'd catch him sneaking out of his bed in the apprentice dorms, for the flashes of giddiness she'd seen on his face when he thought no one was looking.

Lily, Ellie noticed immediately, was a Chantry initiate. Jowan had spoken of her once a few months ago, but hadn't offered any information beyond a name; he especially had not mentioned that they were very much seeing each other and very much not supposed to.

Forbidden love. _Adorable. _For a moment, at least, until Lily had cut to the chase immediately and explained what she'd managed to catch a glimpse of: documents on Knight-Commander Greagoir's desk, authorizing what Jowan had been so afraid of, what _every _mage lived in fear of until they passed their Harrowing. The Rite of Tranquility. And they'd authorized it for _him. _Irving, to Ellie's dismay, had actually signed the damn thing. It would go through.

"They'll take _everything _from me!" Jowan said, looking like he could barely hold back his emotions. "My dreams, my hopes, my fears… My love for Lily. All gone… They'll extinguish my humanity! I'll just be a husk, breathing and existing, but not truly living! Oh, no, no, _no…"_

Ellie suddenly felt absolutely _horrible _for being so carefree and joyful about her own Harrowing. Guilt squeezed her heart like a vice. She didn't care why they'd signed it, didn't care about anyone's reasons, only that this had to be stopped.

Somehow.

"What can we do?" she asked. "There has to be something."

"If I destroy my phylactery, I can escape," he said. "Without it, they can't track me down. We… We need your help. Lily and I can't do this on our own."

Ellie nodded fervently. "I'll do anything I can. Tell me how to help."

"Thank you," Lily said, her calm, sweet voice barely betraying the deep-seated panic behind it. "We will never forget this. What we've been discussing is this: I can get us into the repository chamber where they keep all of the phylacteries, but there is a problem. There are two locks on the phylactery chamber door itself. The first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one key. But it's just a door – there's power enough in this place to destroy all of Ferelden. What's a door to mages?"

"I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock," Jowan chimed in. "You could get one from the stockroom…but Owain doesn't release such things to apprentices. And I think you need a signature from an enchanter to get one."

Ellie caught his drift without having to ask: they wanted her to obtain a rod of fire, because she was an official mage now. Her head spun. Helping a mage escape the tower? That was against every law she knew… And yet letting her childhood friend be made Tranquil seemed a worse crime than anything. She couldn't let it happen.

"Say no more," she said. "I'm on it."

Signature from an enchanter, eh?

* * *

><p>"A rod of fire, you say," Corvis said, raising one black eyebrow to nearly touch his hairline. He leaned against the wall of books, crossing his arms over his chest. "Whatever for?"<p>

"It's…personal," Ellie said. Sweat dripped down the nape of her neck. "And I heard I need an enchanter's signature to get one."

"_Senior _enchanter," Corvis corrected her.

Her spirits fell; she could almost hear them hitting the floor with a wet thunk.

"But don't fret," he continued. "I just picked one up from Owain not a day ago to help train an apprentice, but I don't have need of it anymore. Because I trust you, I'll lend it to you, but _only _set fire to things that aren't alive, all right? Or things that are only _slightly _alive."

"Thank you!" she said, throwing herself at him; he grunted and caught her weight more gracefully than she'd expected, especially with her squeezing his neck, grinning like a buffoon, and standing on the tips of her toes. A moment later she regretted her surge of bravery and pulled away, giving him a polite bow. "Er… Sorry."

"No harm done," Corvis said with a smile.

* * *

><p>It was strange, how easily plans went awry.<p>

The rod of fire hadn't worked on the blasted door after all. Lily had realized with a start that the magical wards on the door were much too powerful even for a fiery blast. So they'd gone the long way round, not to mention fighting animated suits of armor and things that looked like miniature dragons with worm heads. Ellie, being a healer, had stayed out of the fighting and kept Jowan and Lily unharmed, for the most part.

Eventually they'd discovered a room within the grey stone chasms, a room that shared a wall with the phylactery chamber. Good fortune had smiled on them today, and one of the walls was rotting to the point of crumbling into little gravelly bits; even better, a strange dog statue that apparently magnified every magical effect stood facing the wall. The rod of fire had worked splendidly then, blasting the wall apart and allowing all three of them into the chamber.

Ellie had felt a strange, sickening sense of unease when Jowan had finally reached his phylactery and had dropped it on the stone floor, shattering the glass. Crimson blood pooled below the crystalline shards.

Something didn't feel right. And she couldn't decide what exactly that was.

Jowan and Lily, intent on immediate escape, had charged up the stairs and out of the repository; Ellie had ran after them, keeping pace, only to skid on her heels and halt when she saw the welcoming party waiting for them outside.

First Enchanter Irving. Knight-Commander Greagoir. Three templars. All with stiff shoulders and disappointed frowns. All staring at the three of them.

"So what you said was true, Irving," Greagoir said; his voice held none of the triumph Ellie anticipated.

Ellie remained silent, hanging her head in shame. No words she could string together would free her from this mess she'd gotten herself in. She'd taken a risk trying to free Jowan, and here was that risk now, come back to slap her in the face.

"G-Greagoir," Lily stuttered, obviously barely holding herself together.

"An initiate, conspiring with a blood mage," Greagoir said, pointing a gauntleted hand at Jowan. "I'm disappointed, Lily."

Ellie's heart stopped for a beat.

Blood mage? They'd sent for the Rite of Tranquility because Jowan was a _blood mage? _He'd asked for her help, trusted her, fought alongside her, been her friend for their whole childhoods, and yet he hadn't mentioned he was a _blood mage? _Her eyes blurred. Her cheeks heated to the point of discomfort. She felt betrayed, utterly betrayed by someone who she'd trusted and stood behind nearly her entire life.

She felt her head spinning.

"The initiate seems shocked," Greagoir continued, "but fully in control of her own mind. As does the healer. Not thralls of the blood mage, then. You were right, Irving. The initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not let this go unpunished." He gave Ellie a sour look. "And this one. Newly a mage, and already flouting the rules of the Circle."

_I'm dead, _Ellie thought. _I'm dead. There's no chance._

"It's not her fault!" Jowan said; whether that referred to Lily or Ellie remained unclear. "This was my idea!"

"I am disappointed in you, child," Irving said, his sad grey eyes boring into Ellie like a mining drill. She could barely stand.

"As Knight-Commander of the Templars here assembled," Greagoir announced, drawing on the full power of his commanding voice to silence Jowan and Lily when both began protesting, "I sentence this blood mage to death. And this initiate has scorned the Chantry and her vows. Take her to Aeonar. As for the young healer, well…" He turned a cold gaze to Ellie. "I will send for the Rite of Tranquility."

Ellie's knees threatened to knock together.

Whether or not Jowan felt remorse for sentencing Ellie to the same fate he'd been so desperate to escape from, he didn't say.

"The-the mage's prison?" Lily gasped as a Templar advanced on the three of them. "No! Please, no! Not there!"

"No!" Jowan screamed. "I won't let you touch her!"

He whipped out a knife and slashed his palm. Blood sprayed from the cut, making Ellie yelp in surprise and shield her face. Then Jowan shoved his hands forward and sick, twisted magic flooded out of them, too powerful to resist; the blast caught Ellie and she hit the floor, skidding a foot or two, her vision going black.

* * *

><p>Ellairia's head felt like it had been crushed in a vice when she finally woke.<p>

The rough, chilled stone floor was not a pleasant place to lie down on; her back had seized up by the time she tried to sit. Hands took her shoulders, helping her, and she rose to a sitting position, dizzy and numb.

"Are you all right?" an Antivan voice sounded behind her. The warm hands squeezed her shoulders. _Corvis. _"I heard the commotion. What's going on?"

She couldn't answer. Couldn't speak. Her tongue felt like a swollen lump in her mouth.

Irving grunted loudly, muttering something about old bones as he struggled to hit feet. "Where's Greagoir?"

"I knew it," the aforementioned Knight-Commander said; Ellie saw him getting to his feet as well and helping another Templar up. Only the steady presence of Corvis's hands kept her from keeling over again. "Blood magic… But to overcome so many… I never thought him capable of such power…"

Excuses tumbled through her head. _He hid this from me. I didn't know about this. I'm not a blood mage. I'm hurt too. He HID THIS FROM ME. _But she held her tongue.

"Jowan? A blood mage?" Corvis asked from behind her. "Unexpected. And he's on the loose now?"

Irving nodded. "None of us expected this. Are you all right, Greagoir?"

"As good as can be, given the circumstances!" Greagoir snapped. "If you had let me act sooner, none of this would have happened!"

Ellie barely stayed focused as Greagoir spotted Lily still standing in the corner and sentenced the poor girl to life in Aeonar's prison. Lily didn't deserve this; her shock at hearing of Jowan's magic, the betrayal clearly written across her face, the fact that she was still _standing _here, meant she had been deceived, just as Ellie had. But the Templars hauled her away regardless. She zoned out as Greagoir and Irving discussed her own Rite of Tranquility; Irving protested, and Corvis voiced his disapproval as he helped Ellairia stand, but nothing they said could change the Knight-Commander's mind. Ellie would lose her connection to the Fade, and lose everything that came with it – her magic, her dreams, her feelings.

Everything.

And then someone new strode up to them.

Ah, Duncan. They Grey Warden. A friendly face. He was in full armor now, a sharp sword at his belt, its steel glinting in the dim light of the tower.

"Knight-Commander, if I may?" Duncan said politely. Ellie turned to face him, wrapping her arms around herself; even now, Corvis kept her steady. He must have sensed her grief, her panic. "I am not only looking for mages to join the king's army. I am also recruiting for the Grey Wardens. I had originally come to recruit this enchanter," he gestured at Corvis, who nodded, like he'd known about it, "but both Irving and Wynne have spoken highly of this young healer, and I would like her to join the Warden ranks as well."

"_WHAT?" _Greagoir snapped, his head whipping so fast in Irving's direction Ellie thought it might fly off. "You not only promised him one of our enchanters behind my back, but you recommended _another _as well?!"

"She has served the Circle well," Irving said, giving Ellie a pained smile that damn near broke her heart. "She would make an excellent Grey Warden, as would he."

Duncan's eyes were kind when he looked down at Ellie. "We look for dedication in our recruits. Fighting the darkspawn requires such dedication, often at the expense of all else."

"I object!" Greagoir shouted. "I don't trust this young one, and the enchanter has apprentices! You cannot tear the Circle apart from the inside out! I will investigate this issue, and as such, I will not release either of them!"

"Greagoir, mages are needed," Duncan said calmly. "We have need of healers, and we have need of those with a powerful command of the elements. Worse things plague this world than blood mages – you know that. As such, I will take this young mage under my wing and accept full responsibility for her actions. And I will also be recruiting this enchanter. If I must use the Right of Conscription, I will do so."

"I will gladly go," Corvis said.

Ellie just nodded, hope blooming in her heart.

Greagoir tossed his hands in the air, muttered curses to himself, turned on his heel, and strode away. Irving, with one last look at Ellie, followed him, and the Templars went after. It seemed no goodbyes would be had, no last words of advice would be exchanged. All the same Ellie was nearly bouncing with excitement at escaping the Rite of Tranquility, at the chance to see the world and have a new, fresh start.

"Well," Corvis said, looking down at her when she turned to look up at him, "that was rather exciting, wasn't it? I could use a five-year nap."

"Not yet, I'm afraid." Duncan chuckled. "Come, the both of you. Let me explain our course of action."

The plan unfolded – Duncan still had business in Highever and somewhere in the Brecilian forest, so Corvis and Ellie would travel south to Ostagar by themselves. According to Duncan, the darkspawn were still held at bay by the old fortress, so the roads leading to Ostagar would be safe. Ellie smiled and glanced in the direction she knew the front doors to be, knowing after years of wondering, she'd finally get a chance to see the world outside.

If that meant fighting darkspawn, it didn't matter – she'd just been given a second chance, and she didn't intend to squander it.


	2. A Different Kind of Shield

_A bit of time has passed between the previous chapter and this one. We're on Warden #3 now. Hope you enjoy!_

_[Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.]_

* * *

><p><strong>A Different Kind of Shield<strong>

Palla Cousland rarely had trouble sleeping. She was one of those people who could be pelted with rocks while they slept and still never wake, a talent she found most fortuitous. Her dear mum had once said she always thought Palla was dead, and eventually forced herself to stop checking on her.

This night, however, Palla's sleep was fitful at best.

She dreamed of fire devouring the castle walls like a ravenous beast, dreamed of terrified screams and people running for their lives. She was vaguely aware of her body tossing and turning, twisting the blankets all around her in a sweaty cage, but she couldn't force herself awake. The screams grew louder, and Palla found herself screaming, until eventually she awoke to the sound of her own shrieking and realized Duncan was looking over at her.

"You are dreaming about your family, aren't you?" he asked gently as she sat up.

"Yes," she answered simply, looking away.

She rubbed her forehead, studying her surroundings. They'd camped in the shadow of a craggy hill in a small valley; she sat on her pile of furs, wrapped up in blankets to ward off the chill. She remembered where they were now: Duncan said he had business with the Dalish elves rumored to be in the area, and so they'd journeyed here, hoping to find the clan in a timely fashion.

Pain squeezed her heart. Only two weeks ago Duncan had escorted her out of Castle Cousland in Highever, rescuing her from the cold-blooded slaughter Arl Howe had planned for her family. She still couldn't close her eyes without seeing her father lying bloodied on the floor, begging her to run, and her mother kneeling at her father's side, refusing to leave him.

Every day for the past two weeks, she'd woken up screaming.

At least now the pain had lost its sharp edge, and it tended to dull with consciousness. Still, Palla would never forget, never stop hunting that bastard Howe down until she could drive her blade into his sniveling little head. And Fergus had left before the slaughter; he could still be alive. He _had _to be.

"I suppose I should really keep my voice down," Palla said, cracking a fake smile. "Wouldn't want to disturb the errant squirrel who's trying to catch some shut-eye."

Duncan said nothing, giving her a look like he could see right through her. And, Palla reasoned, he probably could.

She'd always been a smart-mouth, something that drove her parents to no small amount of frustration, especially when she sassed a nobleman or emasculated one of the castle guards. Secretly, though, she knew they had valued her sharp wit, and had loved her no matter what preposterous things came out of her mouth.

They wouldn't want her to give up her personality out of grief…right?

But it was hard to think that way.

"It's early in the morning," Duncan said; Palla noticed he'd already taken down his tent, rolled up his bedroll, and strapped everything to his back. Always ready to go, this guy. "I think we should pack up and head deeper into the forest. We're likely to come across a clan if we don't give up too easily."

Palla set about rolling up her own bedroll, stalwartly trying to ignore the early morning chill. The sky was iron grey above them, the green trees muted by the dim light. She distracted herself with her tasks as she'd been doing for the past two weeks, emptying her mind as her hands deftly took down her tent as if by their own will.

"Why are we seeking out the Dalish?" she asked Duncan.

"Our numbers are desperately in need of bolstering," he answered. "I've already sent two mages, a…_ahem_, cutpurse, and a knight ahead of us to Ostagar, and we have you now, but there's always need for more rogues, and no one is better at that than the Dalish. I've never witnessed another who could step so quietly, as if they weighed absolutely nothing. Rogues are invaluable in battle for their ability to stay out of sight and make lethal hits, and I anticipate quite the battle to come at Ostagar."

"And you think they'll willingly give up a clan member?"

He looked up at the sky, silent for a moment. "We Grey Wardens have the Right of Conscription, as you are well aware. But I do not wish to use it unless absolutely necessary, for fear of worsening the elven conceptions about us humans. No… I believe there is at least one hunter who will see the threat of the Blight and come willingly."

Palla certainly hadn't come willingly. She'd screamed at Duncan not to take her away, wailed that she could stay at Castle Cousland and protect everyone. Now, she realized even she would have perished in the attack, and only the thought of living long enough to rip apart Howe for what he'd done had gotten her to stand up and follow Duncan to safety.

She wished she could have saved at least someone other than herself. If Duncan did succeed in getting a Dalish recruit…well, Palla doubted she could stop herself from smothering that recruit and treating them like a fragile egg. No one else would die. Not if she could help it.

Her things packed, she strapped everything onto her back and followed Duncan through the forest. The babbling of a stream soothed her for a minute, made her forget what had happened as she zoned out and listened to it.

"It's a jolly good thing that Right of Conscription exists, isn't it?" she mentioned to Duncan as she stepped over a rotting log.

He didn't even acknowledge she'd spoken – it was probably for the best. Duncan was not one to encourage her use of dumb humor to bury her pain. Even so, she doubted she'd do anything else. Over the two weeks she'd been able to at least numb herself to her family's tragedy, all while making bad jokes about mundane things to pass the time.

It was the only way she knew how to cope.

Duncan held up a hand, stopping her. They'd been walking for several minutes now, and the sky was beginning to lighten, showing its first subtle hues of light blue. The grass felt squishy under her feet; when she lifted one boot, she saw it was soaked with mud.

"I sense – " he started, then abandoned the sentence altogether as a figure charged over a hill and dropped down right in front of them, waving its mace around like a barbarian.

Palla reacted first, letting out a war cry and hacking at the creature, who could barely get a figurative word in edgewise; it fell to the ground with a loud death rattle.

By the warty, black-and-green-skinned, monstrous look of it, the creature was a darkspawn. Palla had already seen a couple; for some reason Duncan couldn't pinpoint, they seemed to be drawn to these woods. She drove the blade of her sword into its ribcage for good measure, giving it a good twist and yanking it out.

"This is far too many to be chance," Duncan said, looking about. "I hope we haven't come too late."

So he thought the darkspawn in the forest might have already reached the Dalish clan and slaughtered the elves. Palla's will tightened into steel. Maybe it would do her some good, to reach the clan and save them from the oncoming creatures. But if they were already dead, she knew she'd break. Her carefully constructed shield would crumble all around her like an ancient stone wall.

She'd have to make sure that didn't happen. No matter who Duncan recruited, no matter how they felt towards her, she'd protect them like a mother mabari until she breathed her last breath, and then she'd keep on protecting them after.

It made her feel slightly better, she thought, to vow to save someone. Maybe she could even make a difference in someone's life. But until then…

Well, until then, she'd keep shoveling dirt over her grief, keep making jokes to dull the pain, and hope no one expected any different from her.


	3. My Wild Dalish Rose

_Anyone recognize the song reference in the title? Eh? Eeehhhhh?_

_...I'll see myself out now._

_You might notice that this doesn't run exactly as the origin story does; that's intentional. _

_[Dragon Age and its characters belong to Bioware.]_

* * *

><p><strong>My Wild Dalish Rose<strong>

Green leaves like soft, carved jade, spongy dirt and leaves beneath her feet, milky white _halla_ grazing under the dappled shadows of the tall, ancient trees – all were part of the forest Shesi called home. Her clan hadn't settled here for very long – it was too dangerous, for multiple reasons, to stay _anywhere _long – but already Shesi felt a need to protect the forests she so loved.

From these _shemlen._

Three human men foolishly tromping about too close to the Dalish settlement could cause trouble for the clan. Tamlen, her hunting partner and closest friend, already had an arrow trained on one; following suit, Shesi nocked an arrow of her own and aimed.

"You three are somewhere you shouldn't be," Tamlen said.

"Let us pass, elf," one of the _shems _said. "You have no right to stop us."

_Oh? _Shesi thought. _I haven't met a single shem who wasn't an entitled twat. _

"No?" Tamlen said, his voice confident as ever – it was one of the things she loved about him. "We'll see about that, won't we?" He turned his head to Shesi. "You came just in time. I found these _shemlen _lurking about in the bushes. Bandits, no doubt."

The three seemed to finally take to heart that two Dalish elves had arrows aimed right at their heads, and one stepped forward, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "We aren't bandits, I swear! Please don't hurt us!"

"That's more like it," Shesi said with a smirk.

"You _shemlen _are pathetic," Tamlen sneered. "It's hard to believe you ever drove us from our homeland."

"We've never done nothing to you Dalish!" another _shem _whined in response. "We didn't even know this forest was yours!"

"You go traipsing about in a forest without being aware of its inhabitants?" Shesi said. "You are foolish. All of you. It's a wonder a bear didn't rip you apart before we found you."

"This forest isn't _ours, _fool," Tamlen said, echoing Shesi's thoughts – no one could truly ever own the forest. She was a wild thing, beautiful and deadly. "You've stumbled too close to our camp. You _shems _are like vermin; we can't trust you not to make mischief."

The men looked at Tamlen like he'd insulted them, like he hadn't said the truth.

"What do you say, _lethallan?" _Tamlen asked her; she always felt warm inside when he called her that, but a part of her wished he would say something…more. "What should we do with them?"

"May as well find out what they're doing here," she said. "Before…well. You know."

"Does it matter?" Tamlen asked, shaking his head.

"L-look," came the tentative answer, "we didn't come here to be trouble. We just found a cave, not far west of here!"

"Yes, a cave!" another chimed in. "With ruins like we've never seen! We thought there might be…uh…"

"Treasure?" Shesi asked. "But of course. Nothing interests a human except _shiny _things." She nodded to Tamlen. "Why should we care? Let 'em fly."

Tamlen grinned widely and let go of the string; his arrow sailed into the first man's chest. Shesi let hers fly, and as the third man scrambled away from them, Tamlen shot him in the back. It rather shocked her that her arrow actually hit its target; she'd always been a terrible shot, and really only carried a bow because they were essentially standard issue for a Dalish hunter.

The forest would claim their bodies, as it always did. Life became death, and death became new life; perhaps each man would fertilize a new tree. It was the least these _shemlen _could do. Shesi strapped her bow to her back and went to Tamlen's side, looking up at him with a smile.

She'd probably been in love with him since the day she could walk. His eyes were her favorite – light blue like a cloudy sky, unlike the typical green eyes she and just about every other Dalish elf had. She'd told him once that his hair color reminded her of wheat, and he'd told her not to harvest his head in return. Her own hair was often a mess – dark brown and cut to her shoulders, many strands worked into thin braids, often with a twig or leaf stuck in it – but he'd always called her pretty. Said she had a wildness in her that would make any man want to bond with her.

She was just waiting for him to, well, ask her.

"Well," he said, "shall we see if there's any truth to their story? I'm curious."

"Killing _shems _is one thing," Shesi said, "but mysterious caves? Who knows what's in there? We should inform the keeper."

"We're already here!" he exclaimed. "Now, they said it was to the west…"

There was no point arguing. She shook her head and sighed, trudging after him.

"Come on, _lethallan," _he said with a short bark of a laugh. "Let's at least see what's there. How dangerous could it be?"

"Oh, quite," she said, stepping carefully over a dead stump. "There could be, you know, _bears. _Not that we can't take one down, but what if there's more than one? Or _wolves. _Or a whole troop of humans. Or perhaps bloodthirsty, animated socks."

"…socks."

"Have _you _ever been strangled by a magically animated sock? Don't underestimate them. _Vicious._"

He chuckled and ruffled her hair as they walked.

Shesi didn't know whether or not to be surprised that the now dead _shems _had been telling the truth – true to their word, not far west from where they'd died was the gaping maw of a cave. A single water droplet beaded off the ceiling and splashed to the dirt. A cold subterranean breeze stirred her hair, making it tickle her neck.

"Shall we?" Tamlen said, confident as ever; Shesi followed him inside.

She brushed her fingers against the hilts of her fighting knives as they walked. Tamlen stepped inside first; when her eyes adjusted, she saw a peculiar sight: stone halls that stretched on forever, it seemed, the floors and walls carved up. She'd never seen a structure so big; no _aravel _could be so massive or so sedentary.

Directly in front of them was a statue with long, spindly arms, one hand clutching a massive bronze pike, and a headpiece many times bigger than its head. It appeared to be wearing a stone robe of sorts.

"I can't believe this," Tamlen said, approaching it, his footfalls echoing down the hallway. "You recognize this statue, don't you?"

"Should I?" Shesi asked. "Something about it looks familiar."

"This looks like human architecture…with a statue of our people. Can these ruins date back to Arlathan? I know we're not close to where Arlathan was, but… We must have lived in other places, too. Even if elves didn't live here, its architects clearly knew of our gods."

"I don't know," Shesi said. "This place is starting to make me nervous."

"Can you sense anything nearby?" he asked, looking around them.

"Not yet," she said. Her survival skills weren't fully honed yet, but she could sense some creatures. It had helped them track down those _shemlen _tromping their dirty boots through the forest.

He looked down at her and gave her a fond smile. "Hey, weren't you supposed to be assisting Master Ilen today? How did you end up hunting with me? Not that I'm _objecting…"_

Shesi laughed nervously. It almost bothered her that something could shake her confidence like this, that she'd turn into a giggling, fluttery woman around him; gone were the days of playing in the mud with Tamlen and wishing she were a boy and having dreams that _didn't _involve him.

"I wanted to be with you," she said. "But you know that, don't you?"

"I thought that might be the case," he said gently. "I'm glad."

She stepped close to him, looked up at him. "Do you…have any thoughts on that point?"

No, it seemed when he didn't speak for several seconds, he didn't have anything to say. She almost scowled and turned away, but stopped herself when his gloved hand came up to brush her cheek, tracing the grey-blue _vallaslin _inked into her skin. Impatient, she stood on her toes and clutched his face, pressing her mouth against his.

A pause. A very scary pause. Then Tamlen leaned into the kiss, holding her so tight her ribs protested.

"Say," she said, stepping back after a minute, "I'll bet this place doesn't get many visitors…"

He laughed breathlessly. "Not here, _lethallan. _Let's finish exploring this place and get back to camp, at least."

"Where's your sense of adventure?" she teased. But she led the way anyway, walking quickly through the passages, keeping her steps light; she'd taught herself to walk that way years ago, when the sound of her feet started to bother her.

She hefted a large stone door open and froze.

A bear stood there – no, not a bear, not quite. It seemed like it _used _to be a bear, but this one had great, sagging chunks of skin hanging off it, exposing sticky pink muscle and sinew beneath; what appeared to be bone spikes protruded out all over its body. It stood on two legs and roared at them.

"_What _the – " she started, her voice cutting off sharply when the bear charged her. She leapt out of the way, rolling back onto her feet and whipping out her knives.

One of Tamlen's arrows embedded itself in the bear's muscular neck. Shesi kept the bear's attention on her, feinting left and right; if it charged Tamlen, she wouldn't forgive herself. To her dismay, another arrow only made the bear angrily swivel in Tamlen's direction. Cursing under her breath, Shesi gritted her teeth and leapt onto the bear's back, clamping down with her legs and slicing the creature's neck. It bucked and reared up. Shesi's arms felt sticky and covered in ooze as she flung one around the bear's neck and kept cutting with the other, until the creature fell to the stone floor with a ground-shaking thump.

"By the Creators!" Tamlen gasped. "What…what _was _that thing?!"

"It looks like it used to be a bear," Shesi said, climbing ungracefully off the bear and nudging the rotted form with the toe of her boot. "I…_ugh. _That was horrible."

"I'll say," Tamlen said. He looked past her, past the corpse of the bear, and his eyes widened. Shesi followed his gaze, her own eyes growing wide as well.

A giant looking glass stood there, bordered by ornate grey stone and two robed statues, its strange inner light nearly blinding. An urge to touch it stirred within her, and she bit down on her tongue, wondering what foul magic could be hidden within the mirror's depths.

"Have a look at this!" Tamlen exclaimed, heading towards the mirror. He stopped at the base of it. "I wonder what this writing is for – hey, did you see that? I think something moved inside the mirror."

Shesi's stomach felt cold, twisted - nauseated.

"Tamlen, don't touch it," she begged. "_Don't."_

"Look, there it is again!" he said, ignoring her. He took another step. His hand came up to caress the mirror's surface; it rippled like water. "I…It's showing me things…An underground city? Oh, Creators, I think it sees me!"

"Tamlen!" She grabbed his arm, trying to wrench him away, but it was as if the mirror had an even stronger hold on him and wouldn't let go; she braced her feet against the floor and fought, but gained no ground.

"What _is_ that?" he cried. "Help! I can't look away!"

"LET GO!" Shesi screamed, more at the mirror than Tamlen, tugging on his arm with all her might. Light exploded from the mirror, the force throwing Shesi away from it; she tumbled and crashed into the wall opposite it.

Dazed, she tried to sit up, only for her head to spin and drive her back to the floor she lay on.

"Tamlen…" she groaned. "_Ma vhenan…_where are you…_"_

The mirror silently mocked her as she slipped away.

* * *

><p>Shesi slowly became aware that all of her blood had drained to her head, her limbs were swinging about like a rag doll's, and something pressed against her ribs.<p>

She opened her eyes and realized she was slung over a man's shoulder.

"_Shemlen!" _she hissed, coughing, swinging aimlessly with her arms. "I'll…kill…"

"Quiet, child," the man said, stopping. "You are badly wounded."

"No…I'm not…" she tried to argue. Her muscles didn't want to move, and that scared her. "Where's…"

"Duncan, set her down," a woman said. "Let me talk to her."

The man grunted, lifting her off his shoulder with both hands and setting her on her feet. He acted like she weighed no more than a small scroll, if that. Shesi reached for her knife, stumbled, and fell right on her arse.

"Easy," the woman said, kneeling in front of Shesi. She had soft, fair features, pleasing enough for a _shem: _ivory skin, long red hair the color of a ripe persimmon. Her eyes, deep bluish green, held Shesi's own. "We're taking you back to your clan. We won't hurt you."

"Who…who are you?"

"I'm Palla," the woman said. "It's a pleasure to meet you… I wish it were under better circumstances. This is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

The man she spoke of, Duncan, had dark skin, black hair tied back, an equally black beard, and kind, deep-set eyes. Shesi was fascinated by his beard; elves didn't grow them. She wondered idly if it was soft or scratchy before another cough wracked her small frame. She didn't sense any evil in the _shemlen, _but that made no sense.

"We found you lying in the ruin," Duncan said. "You are very ill, child. It is a wonder you've woken up."

"She's barely awake at that," Palla said, leaning closer. "Look at her eyes."

"Where's…Tamlen…" Shesi asked. "Find him…"

She slumped over.

* * *

><p>When she woke this time, she saw her clan-mate Fenarel kneeling next to her, a hand on her forehead. His blond hair threatened to fall over his eyes, and he blew upwards to feather it away. "You feel warm," he said, looking concerned. "Too warm."<p>

Shesi gasped, gritted her teeth, and tried to sit.

"Easy, _lethallan!" _he said. "You're back at camp. Everyone's worried sick about you. How do you feel?"

"I…" She started to lie, to pretend nothing happened to her as she always did, but she couldn't bring herself to this time. Pain raced through her blood like poison, blurring her vision and making her tongue feel like a useless piece of meat in her suddenly dry mouth. "I feel horrible," she admitted.

"Come here," Fenarel said, holding his arm open; she sank into it, wanting comfort. "Where's Tamlen? What happened?"

"He's… I don't _know…_ A mirror… Tamlen…" She struggled to form words, leaning her cheek against his bicep. "Gone…"

"He can't be," Fenarel said. "But…the _shemlen _who brought you here said they saw no sign of him."

"Humans?" she asked, suspicious.

"Yeah, Shess… They carried you back here two days ago. You don't remember?"

Shesi looked around her; she was on a pile of blankets in the grass under the shade of an aravel. She struggled to find her memories. A strong, dark-skinned man, a woman with hair like the sun'sfire itself…but that was all.

"How could it be two days?" she wondered aloud.

"The man said they found you unconscious and alone," Fenarel explained. He squeezed her gently. "You're shaking. The keeper's been using the old magic to heal you, but honestly, you barely look any better…" He stood. "She wanted to talk to you as soon as you awoke, but I don't think you should be moving. Stay here. I'll get her."

He jogged off, and Shesi watched him go for a moment, blinking and trying to gain her bearings.

Shesi's muscles felt shaky, weak, overused; she knew better than to try to stand. Fainting now could result in a bad head injury, at the least. She rubbed her eyes angrily. Right now she should be sprinting back into the forest, searching for Tamlen, studying every track and scent and aura in the forest. It gave her no small amount of frustration and worry that she could barely even get up to look for him.

_I should have pulled harder, _she thought, remembering the mirror and Tamlen's scream. _I was there. I could have saved him._

The clan's keeper, Marethari, approached a few moments later, concern etched all over the woman's aging face. "I see you are awake, _da'len,_" she said, fondness softening her eyes. "It is fortunate Duncan found you when he did…"

Duncan. The Grey Warden, the man with the fascinating facial hair. Shesi never forgot details like that.

"I know not what dark power held you," Marethari continued, feeling Shesi's forehead, "but it nearly bled the life from you. It was difficult even for my magic to keep you alive."

"What about Tamlen?" Shesi asked urgently. "He could be sick like me, he could be – " No, she couldn't say it. "We have to search for him!"

"Many of our hunters are already out looking for him," she said gently. "If he encountered the same thing you did, he could be gravely ill. The Grey Warden said he found you alone, already stricken. Duncan thought there may have been darkspawn creatures within the cave. Is that true?"

"There was…a bear that looked dead but was alive," Shesi said. "If that…makes many sense."

"Bereskarn," Marethari answered. She frowned. "A twisted creature, yes, but not darkspawn. What else did you find? What is the last thing you remember?"

"A…mirror," Shesi said. "Tamlen touched it."

"A mirror?" she repeated. "And it caused all this? Duncan did indeed mention a mirror…he said he and his recruit shattered it. I suppose his actions were necessary. I've never heard of anything like these mirrors in all the lore we've collected." She sighed heavily. "I was hoping for answers when you woke, but there are only more questions."

Shesi impatiently stubbed her toe against the dirt. "I have to find Tamlen, keeper. Please…let me go back there."

Marethari patiently crossed her arms over her chest, but Shesi could see the twinge of uncertainty in her eyes. "He is more important than any lore in those ruins. If he is as sick as you were, his condition is grave. But I must send others to find him, _da'len. _Merrill and Fenarel will look. I cannot risk your health."

"I _have _to go," Shesi argued. "I _will._"

"I was afraid you'd say that. I – " The keeper looked up as a woman approached. "Ah, I'll give you a moment."

"By the Creators, it is good to see you whole and well!" Ashalle exclaimed, pulling Shesi into a warm hug; Shesi buried her face in the woman's shoulder and bit her tongue to stop the tears from welling up. "I was so worried!"

"Please, don't worry about me," Shesi begged. "I'm not the one in danger right now."

"I can't help worrying for you, dear. I've raised you since your poor mother died." Ashalle gave her one last tight squeeze and stepped back. "Everyone fears Tamlen is dead… is it true?"

"No," Shesi said. "Of course not. He's not gone. I'll find him, I swear – "

"That's quite enough, _da'len," _the keeper interrupted. "Other hunters have been looking for Tamlen. You will not be going back into the forest."

"I…" Ashalle frowned sympathetically, her brows knitting together. "I'm so sorry, dear. I know you and the lad are close. It was always my wish that you two would – no, let's not dwell on it." She smiled softly, kissing Shesi on the forehead. "I wish you a speedy recovery, _da'len." _With that she walked away, leaving Shesi alone with the keeper once more.

Shesi curled her arms around herself, staring at the ground. She idly scuffed her foot around, wondering why the keeper wouldn't allow her to go find Tamlen. After all, she'd recovered, hadn't she? Shouldn't her clan have stopped worrying for her?

"I spoke to the Grey Warden while you were unconscious," Keeper Marethari explained to Shesi. "He has more grave news for you, I'm afraid."

"I will tell her myself, if you don't mind," Duncan said, appearing near them. Shesi looked past him and saw Palla, the redheaded warmaiden, letting one of the halla sniff her hand. The human woman looked troubled, much like Shesi did, and that was almost a relief. The halla briefly nuzzled Palla's fingers and returned to grazing, but Shesi didn't miss the soft smile that touched Palla's face.

"I do not," the keeper said. Shesi's attention returned to them.

"Your keeper tells me your name is Mahariel," Duncan said, nodding to Shesi. "It is a pleasure to meet you now that you're conscious. Your cure is only temporary, I'm afraid. The mirror you and your clan mate encountered was tainted, and now that darkspawn taint courses through your veins. That you've recovered at all is…remarkable. But eventually, the taint will sicken and kill you, or worse. The Grey Wardens can prevent that, but it means joining us. My order is in need of help. You are in need of a cure. When Miss Cousland and I leave, I hope you will join us. You would make an excellent Grey Warden."

"Thank you for your kindness," Shesi said, "but I can't accept. I feel better, and I need to find Tamlen."

Duncan frowned. Once again Shesi was too curious about his thick beard to pay much attention to his expression. "Let me make this clearer for you: your cure is temporary. You will die."

"Then I accept my death. My duty is to my clan. To Tamlen." To the man she'd loved just about her whole life, to the man she'd left to die in the ruins. The urge to find him was like a rash, spreading through her body with a ferocious itch to run into the woods and never return until she could do so with him at her side.

"Do not be so quick to forfeit your own life, _da'len," _Marethari admonished. There was kindness in her voice, and great worry. "Long ago, the Dalish agreed to aid the Grey Wardens against a Blight. We must honor that agreement. That is why you will be leaving with Duncan."

"I _what?!"_

"This is not simply charity," Duncan said. "Did you think my order was only comprised of warriors? Your keeper tells me you are the quickest dual-wielder in the clan, and we are always in need of those who have a keen eye and light foot."

"Again, I appreciate your comments, but I…" Shesi shook her head stubbornly. "I will not go."

Duncan's face was a stony mask. "Then I have no choice. I hereby invoke the Grey Wardens' Right of Conscription."

That sounded awfully formal. And…_binding._

Marethari turned to look up at the tall, dark man. "And I witness and acknowledge your invocation, Duncan of the Grey Wardens. I cannot express my sadness at sending one of our daughters off into such danger, away from the clan who loves her, but neither can I watch her suffer a slow, agonizing death."

_By the Creators. _Shesi never threw tantrums, especially not since she'd endured the ritual to ink _vallaslin _into her face and become officially a grown woman, but she could feel a righteous storm of a tantrum brewing inside her. "You can't send me away!" she cried. "What about Tamlen? I'm going with Merrill and Fenarel to look for him! I could try to sense him, keeper! He can't be lost!"

"Hush, child," Marethari said; she had one of those gentle looks that Shesi knew – from experience – hid bottomless depths of finality and resolve. When the keeper looked like that, she would never bend. Her will was like a stone carving – utterly immovable. "This is a storm even we cannot outrun. The Wardens need you. You need _them_. I will _not _watch your stubbornness take your life. You will be joining the Wardens, and _do not come back._"

Shesi's legs threatened to give out beneath her, and she felt a hot wave of fever pass through her body.

If it had been merely the _shemlen _forcing the issue, Shesi might have done one of two things: either whipped her daggers out and started spinning and stabbing until she stood in a cesspool of grass and blood, or ran as swiftly as her legs would carry her until her lungs gave out. Perhaps both. But to be sent away by the keeper herself… Shesi was at such a loss for words that she could do nothing but stare at the people in front of her, trying to swallow.

"I will allow you to say your proper goodbyes," Duncan said, his voice gentle. "Then we make for Ostagar in the south. Pack as much as you can carry on your back; it will take us a few days to get there."

Numb, Shesi turned and began wobbling away on her unsteady legs. Pack…she had to pack… had to leave… On her disjointed way to who-knows-where she nearly ran into Palla, Duncan's other recruit. The redhead's eyes met Shesi's, and the woman gave Shesi a knowing look when the latter stared at her and said absolutely nothing.

"Duncan is a kind man, you will find," the woman said. Her eyes were soft. "And we are very much needed by the Wardens." Her voice dropped to a low, sad pitch. "But this life was not my choice either, friend."

Someone who understood. Shesi would cling to that when the Grey Wardens yanked her away from her family, quite possibly for the rest of her life.


	4. Merry Band of Misfits

_Ah, Ostagar. An incredible experience the first time around, and the second...and then, on the sixth or so playthrough, I'm blowing through it as fast as I possibly can so I can get to the questing. I might be an impatient douche. :)_

* * *

><p><strong>Merry Band of Misfits<strong>

Shesi walked in Pala's shadow, dragging her feet. Her heart ached for Tamlen. He wasn't dead, he _couldn't _be – but as angry as she was that Duncan and Keeper Marethari hadn't allowed her to search for him, she knew somewhere in the back of her mind that she owed them both her life. And Palla, of course. The woman seemed normal-sized for a human, fairly petite even, but _strong. _A true warrior.

But what did her life matter? It should have been forfeit. She'd betrayed Tamlen by coming here, and she _hated _that.

"So this is Ostagar," Palla said, looking around them. "I've never been so far south. How about yourself?"

"Once or twice," Shesi said.

The white stone columns of the fort rose up around them, taller than any tree Shesi had seen; she felt impossibly small among these giant people and giant buildings. Men and women in full suits of armor bustled about; Shesi saw warriors and blacksmiths and people who Palla explained were Chantry priests and Circle mages. All of this newness made her dizzy.

The king of Ferelden had greeted Shesi, Palla, and Duncan briefly at the bridge, immediately recognizing Palla; from what Shesi gathered, the warrior-woman was nobility. The surname "Cousland" didn't sound familiar to Shesi. The king had been pleasant enough to her, innocently curious about her Dalish clan, but she knew she barely belonged here. From what she gathered, the Dalish were something of a myth among humans, a fact that made people stare at her with mixed expressions as she walked past.

"Hold your head high," Palla said, slinging an arm around Shesi's shoulders. "Stand tall. You're not here just because Duncan pitied you."

"Thank you for trying, _shemlen_," Shesi said politely. She forced herself not to jerk away from Palla's unfamiliar touch; the woman meant no harm by it. "But I don't hang my head out of self-consciousness."

"You're upset," Palla guessed. "I understand. _Really, _I do."

Shesi knew she did. Palla had explained on the road to Ostagar how she'd been forced to leave her parents to die back in the castle she'd grown up in, how she still feared for her brother's life and hoped desperately he lived. Shesi hadn't missed her huff of frustration when King Cailin said her brother couldn't be contacted, if he was still alive at all. If anyone knew of grief, it would be her. And Shesi was thankful for that, as horrible as it sounded – not thankful for Palla's pain, but for her understanding.

"I know." Sweat beaded on Shesi's brow; she could feel the darkspawn corruption inside her, spreading through her body like frigid poison. If they didn't complete the joining soon, she would die. She knew that much.

"Move on at your own pace," Palla said. "I will too."

Shesi just nodded.

"Now, who were we supposed to look for… Alistair?" Palla said. "That his name? I suppose he's somewhere around here? Let's find him, shall we?"

Shesi nodded again and followed her.

As they passed a merchant of sorts, he gave Shesi a suspicious glare, motioning both women forward. "You there, elf! What in the world are you wearing? And what's that paint all over your face? I'm missing that shipment, and I've been – "

"Shove off," Palla snapped. "Don't make me cut out that tongue of yours and feed it to that prisoner over there in the hanging cage, because _believe me, _he'd eat it."

The merchant held his hands up in a defensive gesture, looking horrified, but Shesi only spared him one last glance before she hurried after Palla. She'd been treated like dirt by _shemlen _since the first time she'd laid eyes on one; why should this man be any different? People like Duncan and Palla were kind enough, but Shesi expected them to slip, expected them to ask her to carry all their junk or call her a servant or something.

"Is that him?" Shesi asked when she and Palla climbed up a wide stone ramp and came upon a young man in a suit of armor clearly having an argument with a Circle mage.

"Looks like it," Palla said.

The Circle mage huffed loudly and stormed away, brushing roughly past Shesi, who staggered and caught herself. She glanced up at Alistair, studying his appearance so she'd remember it: he was a handsome enough man, strong shoulders, tawny hair and lightly tanned skin, but she couldn't look at anyone right now without seeing Tamlen's face.

"One good thing about the Blight," Alistair said, smiling, "is how it brings everyone together."

Shesi just stared.

"Ha! You're a strange one," Palla said.

"So I've been told," Alistair said. "I take it you both are the new recruits?" He looked at Shesi. "You're Dalish, aren't you? I've seen tattoos like those before."

"_Vallaslin," _she corrected. "But yes. I am Dalish." She'd received her _vallaslin, _her blood writing, just a few months back when she reached eighteen years and came of age. Hers had come out bluish grey; she'd always foolishly hoped for green, but after enduring the ritual, she no longer cared what color they were. She was proud of them all the same. Tamlen had undergone the blood writing ritual two years before her, she remembered.

Alistair turned to Palla. "And you must be – "

"Bryce Cousland's youngest," Palla said. Shesi detected a twinge of sadness in her voice.

"But of course," Alistair said. "You look just like your brother, although I'm told Fergus doesn't have that flaming red hair of yours. We could use _you _as a beacon if our lights ever go out."

Palla laughed, erasing all traces of sadness from her face with deceptively little effort; Shesi could read people well, and she knew there was deep pain under the surface there. "I'll put your lights out any time," Palla said. "All you have to do is ask."

"Point taken," Alistair said. He began walking and motioned for them to follow him. "You know, it just occurred to me…there haven't been many female Grey Wardens. It's rather unusual for Duncan to recruit three at the same time."

"Want more women in the order, do you?" Palla asked.

Shesi struggled to keep up with their longer strides. "Three women? There are other recruits here?" she asked him.

"Four others. Now that you've explored the camp, I'll fetch them and bring them both to Duncan so we can get underway." He looked bothered. "I've met two already. An enchanter and a new mage. This could spell trouble."

Mages didn't bother Shesi. Keeper Marethari had always used magic to protect and help their clan. Her first, Merrill, did the same.

Palla raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"Well, you see," Alistair said, "I used to be a Templar."

"Awkward," Palla said.

"Indeed. My background makes mages nervous. And nervous mages make me nervous. I don't want to be a toad. I like the way I am." He cleared his throat. "Anyway, as the junior member of the Order, I'll be accompanying you as you prepare for the Joining. Let's be off, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Shesi stared into the towering bonfire, barely aware of Duncan greeting the new recruits as they took their places near her. Eventually she forced herself to look up and study them, only so she could remember their faces should she ever need to. The appearance of the two mages startled her – one was human, dark-skinned and pleasing to look at, with blood-red tattoos around his eyes. The other, Shesi noticed with a surprised little smile, was an elf woman, just like herself. This elf had short, tousled blonde hair and little crinkles around her brown eyes that made it seemed like she laughed often.<p>

Alistair returned with a rather homely knight and another man, a dark-skinned rogue.

"We've many introductions to make," Duncan said. "I'll start with our friends from the Circle tower." He gestured to the man. "This is Corvis Nalída, enchanter of the Ferelden Circle, and this – " he gestured now to the elf woman, " – is Ellairia Surana, newly a Harrowed mage."

"Pleased to meet you all," Ellairia said, staring at Shesi for a particularly lengthy amount of time. Shesi wasn't surprised; other elves in particular were always fascinated with the Dalish. Pol, a flat-ear they'd taken in a little while, always had a queer habit of pinching himself in the cheek every few minutes. Corvis, the human mage, just bowed his head once.

Duncan introduced them next to Jory, a knight from Redcliffe, the one Shesi thought was rather homely, and then to Daveth, whom he called a "fellow" from Denerim. That probably meant Daveth had committed a crime or two, and Shesi liked that.

"Charmed," Daveth said, nodding to all of them. His eyes, Shesi noticed, lingered on Palla; whose didn't? "It's about bloody time you folks came along."

"And this is Palla Cousland," Duncan said, stalwartly ignoring Daveth, "daughter of the teyrn of Highever."

Palla gave them all a surprisingly graceful curtsy. Yes, Shesi could see her noble blood now – the way she carried herself, the confident strength in her eyes, the smooth white skin that had obviously been taken care of, the absence of any gnarls or twigs in her long, silky red hair.

Duncan gestured to Shesi as Palla put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "This is Shesi Mahariel, joining us from the Sabrae clan, who have already made their way north. For her sake, I will not delay explaining the Joining to you all." He turned to Alistair. "Assuming, of course, that you're done riling up mages."

"I wouldn't recommend riling that one up," Ser Jory said, jerking his thumb towards Corvis. "I just watched him set fire to a bundle of logs for utterly no reason, smiling the whole time. It's a damned good thing nobody was near."

Corvis grinned a wide grin. "Or do you just _think _you saw that? Was it real? Am I even real? Are _you _even real?"

Ser Jory visibly swallowed, looking confused.

"And they let you teach the children," Ellairia said with a small, fluttery laugh.

"Right," Alistair said, "if we could all refrain from being turned into frogs at least until the Joining is over, I'd appreciate it."

"That's twice now," Palla said. "What is it with frogs and toads? Couldn't mages turn us into different animals? Or are they bound by some strange code to only use amphibians? I wouldn't mind being a horse."

"If you turned into a horse, mi'lady, I reserve the first rights to ride you into battle," Daveth said with a wink.

Palla chuckled and put her hands on her hips, obviously unfazed; Alistair, on the other hand, fell on the other side of the spectrum in the category of _extremely _fazed, with his face turning red and his eyes quickly averting to the ground.

Shesi coughed; her skin felt clammy again. Duncan had said she didn't have much time left, and she squirmed where she stood, itching to be on her way.

"Poor thing," Ellairia said, giving Shesi a concerned frown. "You look terrible. Are you ill?"

"She is heavily tainted," Duncan said; so much for subtlety. "She will become a ghoul if we delay much longer. The seven of you will need to head into the Korcari Wilds and gather six vials of darkspawn blood. As you can imagine, the darkspawn will not give up their blood easily. Furthermore, there was once a Grey Warden archive in the Wilds, abandoned long ago when we could not afford to maintain such remote outposts. It has recently come to our attention that some scrolls have been left behind, magically sealed to protect them. Alistair, I want you to retrieve these scrolls if you can."

"Will do," Alistair said with a salute. He seemed to be happy to move past the Palla-riding subject.

"And take care of your charges," Duncan added. "Although I expect the seven of you will be able to complete these tasks in no time at all. Meet me back here when you've finished. We've much to do."


	5. The Fetch Quests

_And here we are! I thought I'd never get any writing done with Inquisition being out. (Does anyone else squeal inside when they hear the Warden or the Champion get mentioned? I do a lot of squealing with that game. Seriously.)_

_It's good to spend some time with these guys, though._

* * *

><p><strong>The Fetch Quests<strong>

Palla thought their new ragtag group might never actually reach the Korcari Wilds.

As they were leaving Duncan's fire, Ser Jory announced rather awkwardly that he had to relieve himself. That was all well and good, except one didn't just piss through all those layers of armor unless one wanted nasty consequences. So he'd need at least a few minutes. While he did that, Daveth began feeling a little peckish and jogged off to find – steal, presumably – a bite to eat, leaving the group two recruits short now. Palla scuffed her well-worn leather boot against the ground and glanced at Alistair, who had what could only be described as an expression of mild patience.

She liked that about him. He didn't raise his voice in anger, didn't huff and stomp his feet when their group got delayed by silly circumstances; he just patiently waited for the two men to return. Whenever he glanced over at her and their eyes locked, he'd shoot her a pleasant smile that made her feel more than a little fuzzy. Alistair had a smile like a plush blanket and a bowl of hot soup: comfortable. Dependable. Pleasant. _Welcoming._

Palla then looked over at Shesi and frowned. The elf already looked ill, with the ashen blue of her veins popping out against her tanned skin, and the way her pupils flashed ghastly white rather than the typical black…but the Dalish woman said nothing about it, and didn't even waver where she stood.

"Anyone have any good stories to tell to pass the time?" Alistair asked.

If there was anything Palla _loved, _it was the sound of laughter, and she always had some embarrassing story to elicit it. "Shall I relive the time I accidentally had chicken shit in my hair when I went to a formal dinner?" she said.

Ellie giggled, Shesi snorted, Alistair chuckled, and Corvis gave her a smirk. "Please tell me you were young," the enchanter said.

"Nah," Palla said. "Two years ago."

Alistair laughed once more. "Just yesterday I was apparently speaking to Duncan with mabari slobber on my cheek. No one told me. But I'm glad I'm not the only one with humiliating stories."

Just as Daveth came jogging back with some dried beef in hand, Palla spotted a man and woman coming their way, both bickering about something she couldn't hear. Both had fair skin and hair black as ink, although where the man's eyes were mild blue, Palla could see the woman's were a shocking shade of azure.

The man nearly ran into Ellairia, who jumped out of the way; he only halted when the woman grabbed his arm and manually stopped him.

"Brother, dear, what did I say about squishing elves?" the woman said.

"Stuff it, sister," the brother said with a sour frown, crossing muscular arms over his chest.

"My apologies," the woman said, extending a hand to Palla, who shook it. "My name is River Hawke. This is my brother, Carver. You're Grey Wardens, aren't you? You have the look of it."

"You're a rogue, aren't you?" Shesi asked, looking up at River and looking a little less tired. Palla eyed the ferocious-looking daggers strapped to River's belt.

"And you are too, I see!" River said, her eyes brightening – as if the lyrium-bright shade could _get _any brighter. "I've barely seen any rogues around here."

"Forgetting someone, are we?" Daveth said, tearing at a piece of dried beef with his teeth.

"I purposely ignored _you," _River said, shooting him a dirty look, "seeing as you just propositioned me not half an hour ago about something awfully inappropriate for the eve of battle. Not that I wasn't flattered, good ser. No hard feelings, eh?" She turned back to Shesi. "I would just about die of happiness if you'd agree to duel me after the battle. A few days after, probably."

"I would be honored," Shesi said with a short bow.

"That's _if _we survive the battle, Riv," Carver said. For all his stony expressions and grumbling words, Palla saw raw worry underneath it.

"Oh, relax. We will." River swiftly tied her hair back in a high knot and flashed them all a smile. "We really should return to the camp down in the valley. Just came up to grab a few last minute supplies. Best of luck to you all on the battlefield. Let's show those darkspawn what it feels like to have righteous fury shoved up their arses."

"That's a rather awkward place to put your righteous fury," Corvis said. "Am I the only one here who'd rather avoid going anywhere near darkspawn arses?"

"And you as well," Palla said, ignoring Corvis.

"Maker watch over you," Alistair said.

River and Carver walked away then, presumably headed back down to the valley; Daveth looked down at Shesi and handed her a strip of dried beef. "You look like you could use this," he said.

"My thanks, _shemlen," _Shesi said, chewing on it.

Ser Jory returned to the group then, looking much more refreshed, and Palla took the front, leading them all towards the gate. She didn't know what dangers the Wilds would bring – Duncan had hinted at there being many dangers out there – but she was happy to face them all. No matter what, _anything _was better than thinking about Fergus and her parents and Arl Howe and the cushioned life she'd left behind in Highever.

* * *

><p>"Corvis, you rat bastard," Palla hissed, resisting the urge to drive her longsword into the loam beneath her feet. "Stop taking all of our kills!"<p>

The handsome enchanter laughed in her direction, fire crackling around his hands. "What's that I hear? Is that the sound of you not appreciating my efforts?"

"That's one way to put it!" Palla retorted.

The seven of them stood in a narrow spit of land between two stagnant, boggy streams, surrounded by an equal amount of charred darkspawn corpses and the remains of an unfortunately placed deathroot plant. Little pillars of smoke twined up from the corpses where patches of flame still clung to life. Palla pulled her boot away from where it had sunk into the peat beneath her; it made a nasty squelching sound as it yanked free.

"There's nothing wrong with a mage destroying everything in our path and letting us kick back and enjoy the show," Alistair said cheerfully. "As long as any frog spells point firmly _forward."_

"I second that," Daveth said.

"If I'm going to turn anyone into a frog, it'll most definitely be you," Corvis told Alistair, still chuckling. "Care to lead, Miss Cousland?"

"I would," Palla said, all but marching to the front.

They needed to actually _practice _killing darkspawn to prepare for the battle where they would inevitably be overwhelmed by them. Palla knew at least she and Alistair had encountered them before, and that hearing about them didn't actually prepare you for their monstrous appearance and stinging blood. Shesi looked worse now that they'd encountered darkspawn, and Palla could hear her ragged breathing as she fell in step and followed.

Corvis, as promised, hung back during the next fight so all of them could gain experience. The rest of them seemed to adapt quickly. Ser Jory had a lot of power behind that sword arm of his, Palla noticed, and Shesi and Daveth were blurry whirlwinds with their twin blades. Ellairia stayed near Corvis, her healing spells shooting around the marshes, and Corvis fired the occasional ice spell when the need arose.

Palla felt a little guilty snapping at him; the last thing she wanted to do was anger an enchanter with that much raw force behind his magic, but Corvis seemed agreeable enough, and it didn't look like her words had bothered him. More like they'd boosted his ego by proving he was too powerful for the approaching darkspawn.

One of Corvis's ice spells clipped Alistair in the knee just as he was yanking a blade out of a genlock's gut, and Alistair stumbled, shooting Corvis a glare.

"Mages," he said as Palla leapt over and stabbed a nearby hurlock through the middle.

"At least it wasn't one of them toad spells," Palla said, dodging out of the way when Alistair's blade chopped a genlock almost in half. "Then one of your legs would be a frog's leg. That would be unfortunate. Unless you jumped around on one leg. I'll bet you could go far."

"Let's be thankful for small things," Alistair said.

When the last genlock fell to Shesi's blade, Palla saw the elf freeze where she stood, staring off into the swampy woods to their right. They'd already collected three vials of blood from the corpses, and she saw Ellie and Corvis working on the last two, draining sticky darkspawn blood into the glass.

"Something over there?" Palla called to Shesi.

"Hopefully not more darkspawn," Jory said. "How are we supposed to fight more of these things? There's hundreds! This quest is a death sentence."

"Not darkspawn," Shesi answered. She crossed over to Palla, her feet barely making a noise on the moist ground. "Something's tracking us. I can feel it. I don't know if it wants to attack, but either way, we're being followed."

Palla glanced in the direction Shesi had been watching, and she just barely saw what looked like a pair of keen yellow eyes – wolf's eyes – followed by a flash of smoky grey disappearing amongst the trees. Or had that been her imagination? She couldn't fathom a lone wolf trying to take them down after watching them eradicate dozens of darkspawn.

"Let's hurry," Alistair suggested. He pointed to a ruin of crumbling whitish stones, choked all over with moss and climbing ivy. "There's where the treaties should be hidden, I believe."

As they walked and the stone ruins grew ever closer, Palla kept checking over her shoulder to make sure no one had spontaneously broken a foot or fallen in a chasm or something. No casualties yet, thankfully. She heard Shesi ask Daveth about his exploits in Denerim, to which Daveth explained he'd attempted to pickpocket Duncan and had been chased down embarrassingly quickly; an amusing image, that. Ellairia and Corvis struck up a conversation involving some shared memory of the Circle that had something to do with a fellow mage tricking the Templars into thinking the tower had hidden passages within the walls. Ser Jory listened to both conversations, occasionally slipping in a comment about the chill.

"You know," Alistair said to Palla, interrupting her eavesdropping, "I understand if you don't want to speak of it, but… I heard what happened to your family. In Highever. I'm so sorry."

"Thank you," Palla said, gathering her long red hair over one shoulder and tugging on it. "I… Maybe it's best to forget." But not forget to drive a spear through Howe's face, of course.

"If you need anything," Alistair said, "someone to talk to, a cheesy joke, a hug – I'm here. Thought I'd offer."

"Oh, I fully intend to cash in on that hug at some point," Palla said.

Maker, Alistair's cheeks actually flushed at that.

"Darkspawn ahead," Shesi announced, coughing raggedly a second later. "Is that a – _shite."_

"A shite?" Corvis said. "Let's avoid that."

Palla squinted, looking ahead of her and wondering what had made Shesi curse, when she saw what looked like an expanding ball of light. No, not light, not quite; obviously an incoming fireball.

Shite, indeed.

"Out of the way!" she yelled. She had no time to think before Alistair dragged her to where he stood behind his shield, and the inferno exploded _around _them, licking at Palla's skin as she ducked her head to avoid it. Its roaring filled her ears. When the fire fizzled out of the air a moment later, Alistair kept his shield up, looking back at Palla to probably make sure she hadn't burnt to a crisp.

"Damn good thing you were a Templar," she said, searching for her companions. She saw Daveth and Jory emerging from behind a mangrove, unscathed; good.

"That was invigorating," Corvis said, dropping his hand from where it had been shielding his eyes. Ellairia peeked her head out from behind him, not even surprised that Corvis hadn't gone up in smoke.

Maker's breath. How long had that man spent building up an immunity to fire?

"Where's Shesi?" Palla shouted, breaking away from Alistair.

"Get back! Another one!" Alistair warned, grabbing her as another blast of fire seared the air.

So it seemed the darkspawn ahead of them had a mage with them. This would complicate things immensely. Palla looked frantically around for Shesi when the air cleared, finally spotting what she hoped she wouldn't see – a small form lying several yards away with singed, blackened armor, trying desperately to swat off little plumes of fire on her skin.

"Too…slow…_shite,_" Shesi coughed, struggling to her knees. The darkspawn infection must've really done a number on the elf, if a trained rogue like her hadn't been able to leap out of the way.

They had to act quickly, or another fireball would burn them all alive. "Split up!" Palla yelled, pointing her finger wildly in her companions' directions. "Daveth, swing far right and try to sneak around! Jory, get Shesi to cover! Ellie, heal – "

"I've got it!" the elven mage said, running after Jory as the knight scooped up Shesi.

"Corvis!" Palla shouted, gripping a strap at the back of Alistair's armor so she wouldn't stray too far away from his shield. "I'm taking back what I said! Hit that mage with everything you've got!"

"Music to my ears," Corvis said with a grin, spinning his staff over his head and slamming the butt of it down on the ground; Palla craned her head around Alistair to watch as fire erupted from the ground under the darkspawn on the hill above them; the one who'd been hitting them with fireballs flew upwards in such a comical fashion that Palla tried not to laugh.

"Let's press forward while he's on the ground," Palla urged Alistair.

"Got it," Alistair said, lowering his shield.

Not wanting to lose their advantage, Palla charged forward, reaching the first darkspawn – unfortunately not the mage – as Daveth emerged from the treeline and plunged a dagger into a genlock's throat. She heard Alistair's shield slam into another, and she whirled around, searching for the mage. If they could take him down, they could regroup, which seemed vital at the moment. She didn't even know where Jory, Shesi, and Ellie were at this point.

A few yards from her, she spotted the hurlock mage rising to his feet, staff in hand.

"Go down already!" she shouted, rushing for it.

She didn't reach it in time; it raised its staff and aimed, and just as she thought her last sight would be the ugly face of a darkspawn, she saw a small shadow leap forward from behind it. Shesi latched onto its back like a barnacle and drove both daggers through its neck. Its staff clattered to the ground and it collapsed in a heap; Shesi just managed to jump clear.

"Still got it," the elf said with a slight smile, suppressing a cough with her hands.

Ellie must have healed her in time. Thank the Maker. Not wanting to waste their sudden advantage, Palla swung around and launched herself at the last gunlock as Alistair's shield forced it backwards; she heaved her sword in an arc and cleaved its head off, watching the head roll sporadically down the hill.

"Corvis," Palla said, "if I ever snap at you for your magic again, punch me. I don't know what we'd have done without you."

"I won't forget you said that," Corvis said.

"I think that's the last of them," Alistair said, smiling in relief as he sheathed his sword. "This should be where those documents are. Let's find them and get out of here."

Ellie looked down at the decapitated darkspawn from behind Jory's back, looking nauseated. "Let's _hope_ that was the last of them," she said, raising her staff and sending a surge of healing through all of them. Daveth offered Shesi his arm to lean on, and she looked like she was about to snap at him for such a gesture, then her expression turned weary and she took his arm gratefully.

Palla jogged forward into the ruins, spotting an old, broken-down chest buried in the rubble. Alistair helped her clear the chunks of stone away from it. She lifted the creaking lid, waved dust away from her face, and peeked inside.

No way.

"They're gone!" Alistair said. "Maker's breath, what – " He cut himself off, looking up.

"Well, well, well," a woman's voice said. "What have we here?"


End file.
